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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30044880">Tongues rip like razors</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/midearthwritings/pseuds/midearthwritings'>midearthwritings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, M/M, Romantic Friendship, The One Ring is Bad News, Unresolved Romantic Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:01:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30044880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/midearthwritings/pseuds/midearthwritings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>No one should ever go to sleep after a fight. But tonight, you will.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Faramir (Son of Denethor II)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tongues rip like razors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Again, I couldn't decide if this was going to be romantic or Platonic. So it's your choice.<br/>Originally published on Tumblr (@midearthwritings)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   When comes Winter, with it come the frustrated and angry complaints. Those who grumble about the snowflakes stuck in their eyelashes, and those who whine about their almost frozen toes. You never understood them. How could one not enjoy coming home to a warm fire after a long day of playing outside? Blue fingers were a small price to pay to see the big bright smiles painting the little children's faces.<br/>  But the winter mornings, when the Sun rises lazily to make the snow glimmer like thousands of diamonds, seem far away. <br/>  The sunlight feels heavy on your back. Under all your clothes, sweat covers every inch of your skin, droplets dripping down your neck to your chest. More than anything, you wish to rip the thick cape off of your body. You don't, for you are not a child anymore and don't want to appear as such.<br/>  And so you keep walking, the dead looking grass crunching with each step you take. Through your boots, you can feel all the dry earth's bumps and its sharp rocks. There are no trees, and no shadow to make the walk more bearable. What wouldn't you give for the wind to blow on your face, to cool down your skin a little. Sadly, the air is hot and suffocating.<br/>  Perhaps, it would make things easier if you were not all walking so close to each other. As you silently curse the man behind you that keeps stepping on your heels, your toes hit something and your body flies forward. <br/>  You shut your eyes tightly, waiting for your face to collide with the hard ground. Already planning to blame the weather for your fall, you are pulled back on your feet by a gentle hand.</p>
<p>"Careful, we do not want you getting hurt." He keeps his words low, soft. Never have you heard Faramir raise his voice. He never needed to, at least not with you. He knows you will hear him, that you are listening.</p>
<p>  You look up to him, with a small smile. There is no annoyance in his eyes, no anger. Only a plain blue color, comforting, a bit like home. You allow yourself to look a bit longer. Under the burning summer Sun, as you long for the cold winter nights, he is like Spring. The perfect in-between. </p>
<p>"My apologies, Captain." You say, bowing your head slightly to him. </p>
<p>  As the mechanical symphony of the group's steps rise again, you feel his eyes still on you. You dare not look, nor even think too much, afraid he might be able to read your thoughts. Heat spread in your cheeks and you cannot decide if it is because of the Sun, or because you feel naked under his piercing gaze. </p>
<p>"What is it that troubles your mind?" He does not ask if wether or not you are troubled. He knows you are. Turning to glance at him, you see his arm is not resting against his body. It is only then that you realize his hand still holds you. You smile again, and like a disease it infects him and he smiles back.</p>
<p>"Too much." You admit pensively. The warmth of his touch spread throughout your body. Unlike the Sun's assault, it is a very pleasant sensation. "The weather, mostly. I miss the snow greatly." </p>
<p>  He nods, as if he understood. Perhaps he does. "We all do. Until winter comes. And then we wish for it to go away."</p>
<p>  Some do. But you don't. And the puddle of sweat on your lower back, dampening your clothes in the most uncomfortable way, only confirms the thought. <br/>  Time passes too slowly to your taste, and your mouth is getting dry. Drier even than the dirt you're walking on. Looking behind you, careful not to fall again, you observe the men following the captain's steps. They do not look much better than you do, some of them fighting to simply keep their eyes open. <br/>  In the middle, you glance at your prisoners. Blindfolded and tied up like beasts ready to be slaughtered. They are so small. Never before had you seen such small creatures. And they aren't even wearing shoes. If your feet are in pain, you cannot bring yourself to think about theirs.<br/>  Slowly, carefully, you reach for your leader's arm tugging lightly at his sleeve.</p>
<p>"Faramir." The pleading tone makes him look at you fully. You almost get yourself lost in the ocean of his eyes again. With a movement of your head, you indicate the two little men's position. "Shouldn't we give them some water? If I feel as if I could melt, surely they do too."</p>
<p>  When your question is met with a firm shake of his head, you frown. For the first time, you don't understand him. Does he want them to get dehydrated and pass out? Someone would have to carry them until your next stopping point. And under such heat, it would be torture to whoever would be designated.</p>
<p>"They will be provided with food and drink when they have answered my questions." The tone he uses is unusual and it sends shivers down your spine. Slowly, you feel the soft Spring breeze be replaced with a snow storm. And suddenly, you understand what he had meant earlier, for in this instant, you wish more than anything for the cold to go away.</p>
<p>"Faramir." You try again, more desperate. It is not your life that depends on him, but it is still a life. "It is not fair to have them keep going without a bit of water."</p>
<p>"Is this treason I hear?" His words are now hard and sharp enough to cut stone. But they cut through your heart, better and deeper than any blade could. "Defending possible Orc Spies and doubting my ways?"</p>
<p>   You wish to talk back. Tell him you are simply acting as a proper human being. But reason tells you not to. You would get into unnecessary, and unwanted trouble.<br/>   <br/>"No, my apologies Captain." You whisper, shaking your head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>   Hanging from the Halfling's pale neck, it shines in all its golden glory. The One Ring. How easy would it be to snatch it and keep it all to yourself. The power you would be granted would be feared by all, and they would look up to you with admiration and envy. You could press Faramir's sword deep into the Hobbit's throat and it would be yours. <br/>   You force yourself to look away, anywhere else. Inside your chest, your heart is racing. You know it is evil. It calls to the weak minds and possesses them, leads them to their ultimate death. <br/>   Standing close to Faramir, you hear him speak softly. He craves it, and you wonder if his mind feels fuzzy, like yours did. In his eyes, usually filled with tenderness, burns the fire of desire. His breath is short, erratic. Does he, too, think of murdering the poor ring bearer? <br/>   Standing on the tip of your toes, you bring your mouth close to his ear. Your fingers find their way around his arm, once again.</p>
<p>"Faramir." You see his head tilt slightly at your words, his golden locks tickling your face. "I must talk to you. Privately."</p>
<p>  He is reluctant to follow, his feet planted firmly on the ground. And when he finally complies, his eyes linger on the piece of jewelry a bit longer.<br/>  You drag him further away, hidden from any curious ears. It is only when you can barely hear the others talk that you stop, satisfied with the distance between you and them.<br/>  You cannot bring yourself to face him. Partly because you are ashamed. So easily, you had let the Ring take over you, the most disgusting thoughts merging in your mind. Another part of you is terrified. Of the Ring's power or Faramir, you do not know.</p>
<p>"You wished to talk, so talk." He is right. You were the one to bring him here. But now, you doubt yourself. </p>
<p>   Gathering your courage, you turn around. He is changed, as if you had not seen each other in years. He gazes upon you as if you were a stranger. </p>
<p>"You should release them. Let them leave." At your suggestion, rage fill his eyes. In less than a second, he is standing so close to you, invading your space. You don't look away. The urge to defy his authority makes your guts clench, and you feel nauseous. </p>
<p>"You have no idea what it is that you are implying." He spits the words in a manner that is not his. Yet, his voice remains low.</p>
<p>  Like a vivid memory, you see your hands around his throat, strangling him to death. Your blood boils in your veins and you feel hotter than you ever did. <br/>  If you cannot convince him to free the halflings, you will go insane before morning comes. Best case scenario.</p>
<p>"Faramir, this ring was not called Isildur's Bane for no reason." You hiss. What is on his mind? Is he thinking of burrying his sword in your stomach? "Bring it to Gondor and it is death that awaits us all."</p>
<p>  He does not understand, does not want to. Gone are the soft smiles and fingers brushing against your skin. They now dig into your shoulder, and it almost hurts. Almost. But the pain in your heart is greater, and so you barely flinch.</p>
<p>"It will give us great power, and strength. We will slay the enemy and earn everybody's respect."</p>
<p>  Slowly, the pieces come together and you close your eyes. </p>
<p>"It is not the Ring that poisoned your mind." You whisper, and his thumb presses harder into your shoulder. </p>
<p>  All his life, Faramir had to live in the shadow of his brother. Not one day passed without his father looking upon him with disdain. Given the chance to prove his worth, he would blindly take it.<br/>  He does not speak, but he does not step back either. His breath hits your face, hot, burning. Nothing like the perfect Spring. </p>
<p>"You seek the recognition of a man who could not care less about you." Another missed opportunity to keep your mouth shut. </p>
<p>  The cold steel of his sword caress the skin of your throat menacingly. You know he will not act on the threat. But you think better than to provoke him again, and you remain silent.</p>
<p>"Careful with the words you speak." He warns. And maybe, it is of him that you are afraid. "We do not want you getting hurt."</p>
<p>  The blade is gone as fast as it came. The sound of his steps as he walks away are barely audible. You stand there, paralyzed. When you reopen your eyes, you are alone.</p>
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